


Lost and Found

by Seahaven



Series: You played it to the beat [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Character Death, Drug Use, F/M, Lapdance, M/M, Multi, Nudity, Overdosing, Sexual Content, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:45:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seahaven/pseuds/Seahaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras didn't plan to be at a strip club for his birthday. He didn't plan to have fun. He certainly didn't plan to fall in love with the dark haired stripper with the piercing blue eyes.<br/>(Based off of this prompt on tumblr - http://consultingmidgardian.tumblr.com/post/42596424614/les-miserables-strip-club-au-sort-of)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The New Flesh

**∑njolras**

 

“No. Absolutely not.” Enjolras admonished. There was a loud groan from the man at the other side of the table. The two were sitting in the corner of the local cafe while Courfeyrac unsuccessfully tried to convince him to go to a strip club with their friends for his 22nd birthday.  
  
“Oh, come on! Why not?” Courfeyrac whined. Enjolras glared icily at said boy over his cup of French vanilla coffee.  
  
“Because. It’s a _strip club_ Courfeyrac.” Enjolras argued, “Oh don’t give me that look. You knew I would say no. It’’s the reason you bought me coffee, as a bribe.”  
  
“It’s a good strip club! I go there all the time. Plus it’s your birthday,” he countered, “You have to stop being so boring Enjolras. Last year, on your birthday, you made us all go to a protest for the seals. Which, hey, don’t get me wrong. We all love a good protest. But it’s your fecking birthday Enj, do something special. Go crazy, get drunk. Have _fun_.”  
  
“You honestly think I want to spend my birthday in a strip club?” Enjolras asked one eyebrow raised.  
  
“Yes! Why not? You can prove that you actually have a sex drive. Seriously, the rest of us have taken to making bets about whether you even get aroused. Like ever.”  
  
Enjolras rolled his eyes. He was well aware that his friends were intrigued at his lack of sexual interactions. They often turned it into a joke. Courfeyrac and Marius had started calling him Saint Enjolras at one point, but the name quickly ended when he locked them out on the small balcony of his apartment for five hours. He had a sexual drive, thank you, very much. He just didn’t feel the need to take part in the activity with just any stranger, like his friends seemed inclined to doing. He wanted to know the person on a certain level. But Enjolras was nothing if not a busy person. He was back in college to get his masters in Political Sciences. He had a job at the library with Combeferre. He worked tutoring undergraduates at the college. He never had time to reach a certain level of intimacy with anyone. It didn’t bother him as much as it did his friends. Perhaps going to a strip club for an hour or two would get them off his case. Perhaps it could even be fun. He supposed he could go. He looked across the table. Courfeyrac was making a face at him that resembled a kicked puppy which was almost impossible to say no to. He sighed.  
  
“Fine.”  
  
 _“Fine?”_  
  
“Yes, fine. I’ll go.”  
  
“Yes! This is going to be so sweet!” Courfeyrac pumped his fist in the air and jumped out of his seat in excitement. He grabbed his coat and put slung it on his shoulders.  
  
“ I’m going to go tell the others. I’ll text you the address. the place is called _La beauté nue._ Be ready for eight.” Courf called over his shoulder as he practically skipped out of the coffee shop. He bumped into Combeferre on the way out.

  
“He said yes!” Courfeyrac exclaimed before leaving. Combeferre’s eyes widened comically. He quickly composed himself and walked over to the corner of the cafe that Enjolras was currently brooding in.  
  
“You gave in,” He announced as he took the seat Courfeyrac had previously vacated. It wasn’t a question or an accusation. Just a simple statement. An observation even.  
  
“Yes, how did they get you on board?” He inquired curiously. Combeferre was the rational one of all of his friends.  
  
“They asked,” he said simply, “Besides they seem to be quite excited about it. It can’t be too bad.”  
  
Enjolras checked his watch and grimaced, “Well we have about four hours until we have to go.”

  
“It’s not a punishment Enj,” Combeferre smiled, “It’s your birthday and you’re going to enjoy it with us. Where we all are doesn’t matter.”  
  
“You’re probably right,” Enjolras admitted with a sigh. He rose from his seat and gathered his beloved red jacket from the back of his chair. Combeferre rose also and  grinned widely.

  
“When am I ever wrong?” He snorted, “Come on let’s get out of here and grab something to eat.”  
  


* * *

**₲rantaire**

  
  
‘Quite as a cat. I’m invisible. I’m like a shadow. Better than a shadow, I’m a fucking ghost.’  
Grantaire thought to himself as he snuck into the club through the back entrance. The back room was thankfully empty.  
  
Everyone was getting prepared for tonight.  Everyone, except for him. Because he was late. Grantaire had once again woken up, at four in the afternoon, with a pounding headache and a nasty hangover. Now he was sneaking into the stip club like a cat burglar.  
  
 _Crunch!_  
  
He stepped on an old beer can that was left lying on the ground.  
  
He was the worst cat burglar ever.  
  
He froze, wide eyes staring at the doorway leading to the main show room.  
  
“Fuck me,” Grantaire cursed.  
  
“Grantaire, you’re late!” A shrill voice called from the main room. Madame Thénardier stepped through the door. A permanent scowl etched into her face and hands on her hips.  
  
“You’re fucking late.” She repeated disdainfully.  
  
“I know, sorry.” He apologized.  She opened her mouth to undoubtedly scream at him for being late for the umpteenth time this month when another person sauntered into the room and interrupted the promisingly colorful speech.  
  
“It was my fault,” Éponine Thénardier lied smoothly, “I told him to come in at this time thinking it was a weekday.”  
  
“Both of you need to get your shit together. I’ve got a business to run, and I don’t need you idiots mucking it up,” Madame Thénardier barked at them and stomped out of the room but not before yelling over her shoulder, “Blue, you’re on with Ginger tonight.”

Éponine just winked at him and followed after her mother, hips swinging. Eponine was so young that she could be considered jail bait, in the business they were in, but so tough that no one ever dared. She was good at what she did, her looks were sex personified. Lucious brown locks, simmering hazel eyes, plump pouty lips, and a great body for a nineteen. If she wasn’t a total nutjob Grantaire would totally dig her. He wasn’t even sure it was legal for her to be a stripper. Then again, anything run by the Thénardier’s could hardly be considered legal.  
  
Grantaire just rolled his eyes and followed the two Thénardier  women into the main room. On the stage all of the other dancers minus Grantaire and Éponine were warming up. At the bar Feuilly and the other bartenders were triple checking their alcohol stock. Bahorel and the other bouncers, who were supposed to be going over safety precautions and dividing the workload between them, looked like they were taking bets on something.  
  
“Taire,” a soft voice called excitedly from the stage. Jehan and Alyssa sat off to the side of the stage ,with girl that he didn’t recognize, stretching.  
  
Jehan was a sweet boy with an eloquent way with words. His long orange locks got him the strip name: Ginger. Alyssa was a petite thing with light brown hair and blue eyes. Her skin was so pale that she looked like a doll, hence her strip name: Porcelain.  
  
“Hey Jehan,” Grantaire greeted back. He clamored up to the stage to join Jehan and the other dancers with their stretching. He nodded his head in greeting to the other two girls.  
  
“This is Cosette,” Jehan announced noticing Grantaire confused glance. Cosette waved and smiled meekly at him.  
  
“She’s Fantine’s kid,” Alyssa explained. Fantine was a stripper who used to work at the club until she quit to become a prostitute. She was a kind woman who did everything for Cosette. She had been attacked a month ago and beaten pretty badly. Word was that she couldn’t even get out of bed.  
  
“What brings you to our neighborhood?” Grantaire ask curiously. The girl was pretty, but her childish looks were obvious. She was way too young to be doing this.  
  
“I need money. Éponine said this was an easy way to get it.” Cosette confessed. Grantaire frowned. He felt bad for her. Hell he felt bad for almost all the strippers here. They had life stories that could bring a grown man to tears. Everyone had it hard here at _La beauté nue_.  
  
“We’re going on together tonight,” Jehan shared cheerfully as Grantaire sat next to him. Jehan smiled widely at him. It was impossible not to return the friendly smile.  
  
“I’ve heard,” Grantaire confirmed, “Which stage are we taking?”  
  
There were three stages, The main stage which was placed in the center of the large room which was for solo and group performances. Then there was a left stage, which was used for just the men strippers and the right side which was used for only the women.  
  
“Left stage,” Jehan chirped.  
  
“The gay stage,” a voice taunted from among the mass of strippers stretching on the stage. A snort sounded from behind him.  
  
“It’s the same stage you’ll be performing at tonight David,” snapped Éponine. David groaned in response.  
  
“Oh come on Ep,” David complained, “I’m tired of giving lap dances to closeted gay dudes.”  
  
“What makes you think they’re closeted?” another dancer inquired from their place on the stage.  
  
“Because,” David clarified, “If they were straight they'd go to an actual gay bar, not this free for all dump.”  
  
There was a chorus of agreements and disagreements.  
  
“Stop your chit chatting and get ready!” Madame Thénardier’s voice echoed out from her office.  
  
“Club opens in thirty minutes,”  Feuilly called from the bar.  
  
It was showtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Fecking: In an interview, Fra Free said it was his favorite curse word, so I figured why not let his character use it. 
> 
> -La beauté nue means The naked beauty in french. Or at least Google translate tells me so. If I'm wrong, someone please correct me.


	2. A Night to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Grantaire finally see each other.

**₲rantaire**

 

  
Grantaire watched from backstage as ‘Johnny Deep’ and and ‘Big Ben’ were doing their strip routine.They were almost finished with their performance and Jehan and himself were going on next. Grantaire looked around the club. On the middle stage Éponine, who’s stripper persona was named Champagne, and Vanessa, a girl who ironically went by Chastity, were performing with two of the more popular male strippers. A glance at the right stage showed Porcelain and the new girl Cosette, who had chosen the name Baby, was working the stage with her. The drinks were flowing, the music blasting, and the patrons were tucking bills into the scant amount of clothes on the bodies of the strippers. The night was going smoothly.  
  
Grantaire looked down at his attire. He was wearing a button down dress shirt, with the buttons sewed on poorly so it would be easy to tear off , tear away black suit pants, a black tie, and fitted armani briefs. He had on black thick framed glasses, a black fedora,  and was carrying an empty briefcase. Jehan was wearing a matching outfit. They were apparently supposed to be sexy wall street businessmen. The two men already on the stage were originally firemen, before stripping off their get up.   
  
“He’s here again,” Jehan cooed from beside him. Grantaire glanced over to where Jehan was looking. A group of men were sitting at a table in the front by the stage. They were all laughing at a joke it seemed.   
  
“Which one?” interrogated Grantaire. He was curious to see Jehan’s little stalker. The aforementioned boy had been telling him about a man that came to multiple shows and always payed for a private dance. He seemed to be enamoured by the graceful poet. Jehan seemed to also be infatuated.   
  
“The one with the dark curly hair,” he gushed, “His name is Courfeyrac. He’s really sweet.”  
  
Courfeyrac was easy to spot. Grantaire had to admit the boy was attractive. He was all charm, with his perfectly messy hair and his large brown eyes so lovely that he could probably even woo Madame Thénardier. Grantaire was about to express as much but his words caught in his throat when he saw the blonde boy next to Courfeyrac.   
  
_Holy Shit!_  
  
He looked like a god.  
  
If gods went to strip clubs.  
  
He sat there biting his bottom lip and laughing at his friends’ antics like he wasn’t the most attractive man to ever walk the earth.   
  
His own personal Apollo.  
  
Grantaire was snapped out of his reverie by a soft touch on his back.  
  
“We’re on,” explained Jehan. Grantaire nodded and tried to shake all thoughts of the perfect Apollo from his head so he could focus on his routine.   
  
“For your viewing pleasure Ladies and Gents,” called the voice of Monsieur Thénardier, “We have a special duo here for you. The voluptuous Ginger and the mesmerizing Blue!”   
  
The music began to play, some raunchy porn tune, and Grantaire traipsed onto the stage. Jehan strolling beside him singing his hips rhythmically. They walked to mid stage and started the strategically planned out routine which consisted of slowly stripping their clothes, an obscene amount of hip rolls, and some eloquently sexy dance moves.   
  
Grantaire risked a quick glance at Apollo and found that he was staring back. Grantaire tried not to stare straight at his blonde god the whole time but found it increasingly difficult. It seemed his Apollo was having a hard time also. It was like the two of them were in some sort of a staring contest. Neither would look away.  The criminally attractive blonde kept blushing at Grantaire’s unflinching gaze.   
  
Grantaire didn’t even feel the hands stuffing money into his tight briefs as he worked his way around the edge of the stage.  
  
The song started to slow down signaling the end of the performance. Grantaire regretfully broke the eye contact with Apollo and walked to the middle of the stage, where the dance had begun. Both he and Jehan were panting and sweating slightly from the exertion. The cheers they received for their performance were thunderously loud and tremendously long. Jehan gave an overzealous wink while Grantaire blew a kiss at the patrons. The two sauntered off the stage. Grantaire risked a last glance at Apollo who was cheering as enthusiastically as the rest of the crowd.  
  
They were met by an annoyed looking David and another stripper John, dressed as sailors. Grantaire threw David a shit eating grin and glided past him and down the steps leading into the prep room.   
  
  
“Are you working the room tonight,” queried Jehan. ‘Working the room’ was when the strippers went out on the floor looking for those interested in private dances. The private dances payed more and he’d be a fool not to.  
  
“Yeah, I’ll be by the bar,” Grantaire responded walking out to the main room. He had an Apollo to search for.  
  


 

 

* * *

  
  
  
 **∑njolras**  
  
  
Enjolras knew the second he stepped out of the car that this wasn’t as classy of a place that Courfeyrac had led him to believe. It was in a bad neighborhood, the scantily clad girl on the neon sign was missing a leg, and the building itself hardly looked up to code. He sighed. This was going to be a long night. He closed the door and turned to Combeferre.   
  
“I blame you,” he muttered.  
  
“Hey,” Combeferre defended, “It’s not that bad.” Enjolras leveled him with his ever present icy glare.  
  
“Isn’t this great?!” Courfeyrac yelled when finally he pulled up in his beat up pickup truck. Enjolras shot him an incredulous look before falling into step behind him as Courf led them into the building. Marius walked beside him.   
  
“Happy Birthday Enj,” Marius greeted warmly. Enjolras nodded his head  in thanks and grinned at Marius’s apparent nervousness. Good. He wasn't the only one then. Truth be told, Enjolras was nervous. He wasn’t exactly sure what was deemed acceptable strip club behavior. But he was nothing if not adaptable. So he walked up to the bar with his friends and ordered a beer along with Combeferre and Marius. Courfeyrac got some sort of frozen drink. The bartender, whose name was Feuilly, was an attractively dishevelled man who was seemed to be familiar with Courf. The two greeted each other warmly and exchanged jokes while Feuilly served them. They received their drinks and Courfeyrac led the group to a table by the stage which was located closest to the bar (left stage).   
  
Two men, who seemed to have already stripped, were dancing on stage. Enjolras could definitely appreciate their physique.  
  
“How many times do you come here?” Combeferre asked Courfeyrac curiously.  
  
“Often enough,” Courf answered coyly. When his companions just looked at him, unspoken questions on their faces, he explained.   
  
“There’s this one guy. He’s ridiculously good looking. He’s got this long red hair and the way he moves. Sweet lord, no one should be able to move like that. His name is Ginger, just wait till you see him.”  
  
“So you’re in love with a stripper,” Marius sang. The corny joke had all four men laughing hysterically.   
  
“So, are you going to grace one of these lovely gentlemen dancers with a private dance?” Courfeyrac asked as soon as they all recovered from their laughing fits.  
  
Enjolras just rolled his eyes in response. He hadn’t even thought of that. Of course his friends would try to embarrass him by getting a stipper to practically dry hump him. He bit his lip, a nervous habit he’d  developed as an undergrad. He was saved the trouble of having to answer by a loud voice announcing the next dancers.   
  
Two men in suits advanced onto the stage. Courfeyrac’s stripper caught his eye first. Long ginger hair tied back in a ponytail. He was tall and thin, but still had a nicely built body. However Ginger wasn’t the one who held his attention. As soon as Enjolras saw the boy with the tousled curls, the color of ink, and the eyes so blue they should be impossible quickly grabbed and kept Enjolras’ attention. He was beautiful. He moved fluidly and somehow managed to make the vulgar dance moves into something lovely. His body was perfectly sculpted, his fair skin shining under the strobe lights. Enjolras could not physically take his eyes away. He was trapped in place. When the piercing blue eyes connected with him he felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He still couldn’t look away. The blue eyes did not wander from his either. It was a contest neither was willing to lose. Neither wanted to lose. It was confusing and sexually arousing all at once.   
  
When the song was over and the dancers done Enjolras was left at his table, completely oblivious to his surroundings, and completely overwhelmed.   
  
Well that was certainly _something_.


	3. House of Wolves

**∑njolras**  
  
When Enjolras’ mind finally came back to reality he scanned the table. He gaged the reactions of his friends.  
  
Combeferre was looking between Courfeyrac and Enjolras. His expression kept changing; a concerned expression for Enjolras and an exasperated one for Courfeyrac.  
  
Courfeyrac, who was donning the goofiest smile ever, was eagerly digging into his jean pocket for more bills.  
  
Marius looked uncomfortable and confused. He, like Combeferre, kept glancing between Courf and Enjolras almost warily.  
  
Enjolras who was previously staring at the stage in wonder, now was now meeting his friends stares with a cool and inquisitive face.  
  
“What the hell just happened?” Marius blurted at the same time that Courfeyrac cackled, “Enjolras wants the stripper!”  
  
“W-What?!” Enjolras demanded. Combeferre sighed, Courfeyrac broke into a fit of hysterical laughter, Marius continued to look confused.  
  
“Don’t worry Enj,” declared Courf as soon as he had successfully fished out his money from his too tight jeans, “I’ll buy you a dance with him.”  
  
Courfeyrac looked around the club until he spotted the familiar mop of black curls.  
  
“No you will not,” Enjolras threatened. Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow defiantly.  
  
“Won’t I?” he challenged.  
  
“You won’t” Enjolras growled in response.  
  
Courfeyrac jumped out of his seat and rushed towards ‘Blue’ who was seated at the bar talking to Feuilly.  
  
“He?! What?! The stripper?! Enjolras?! _What_?!?” Marius choked out to Combeferre when he finally realized what was going on.  
  
Combeferre just patted his back sympathetically and craned his neck so he could see the antics his friends got up to. 

 

* * *

 

**₲rantaire**

  
As soon as Grantaire located his beautiful Apollo all of his confidence deflated.  
  
Who was he, _a mere mortal_ , to try to seduce a god into a lapdance.  
  
Grantaire moped and deposited himself at the bar and contented himself with watching his fair  Apollo.  
  
“The usual?” A familiar voice quipped from behind him. He turned around on the bar stool and spotted a smiling Feuilly.  
  
“Do I ever say no?” Grantaire grinned. Feuilly just winked in response and went to obtain Grantaire’s alcohol of choice: Vodka. Grantaire returned to ogling his greek god.  
  
“His name is Enjolras,” Feuilly informed as he passed the glass to Grantaire, “It’s his twenty second birthday and his friends dragged him out for some fun.”  
  
Grantaire just gaped in return.  
  
“Bartenders know all,” Feuilly offered with one last wink before going to serve another customer.  
  
Grantaire scoffed indignantly in response. Well at least he had a name.  
  
“Enjolras, Enjolras” he spoke the name a few times, liking the way it rolled off of his tongue.  
  
Twenty two, well that was something. He was the same age as Grantaire. The problem was that Enjolras was a beautiful Greek God, Apollo reborn, and Grantaire was a stripper, and an alcoholic who could barely afford half of the rent on the dump he and Jehan (and Montparnasse, Jehan’s douchebag boyfriend, when he wasn’t in jail)  lived in. He drank to forget his past and stripped to buy his drinks. His baggage even had baggage. It was safe to say that Grantaire was a broken man.  
  
Said broken man was roused on his inner musings by a boy practically running into him. It was Courfeyrac, Jehan’s dirty little secret. Behind him loomed Enjolras. The two seemed to be fighting or arguing. Courfeyrac opened his mouth to say something to Grantaire but Enjolras clamped his hand over Courf’s mouth before he could speak. Enjolras was blushing deeply.  
  
“Uhm, Hello,” Grantaire greeted the pair awkwardly.  
  
Courfeyrac murmured something unintelligible from behind Enjolras’ hand and threw a fifty dollar bill at Grantaire. He excitedly pointed to Enjolras and the latter man’s face turned an even deeper shade red.  
  
Grantaire stared back at him with a blank expression before it hit him. He wanted to buy his friend a lap dance. Against said friend’s will. Grantaire could totally do that. Screw his inferiority complex. Who was he to deny a god.  
  
He grinned his famous cheshire cat grin and grabbed Enjolras’ hand, the one not covering Courfeyrac’s mouth.  
  
 **  
**“This way,” He purred and led a befuddled Apollo to the private rooms. Enjolras sent Courfeyrac a pleading look. Neither man could miss Courfeyrac’s boisterous laugh.

 

* * *

  
  
**₡ourfeyrac**

  
  
Courfeyrac was so busy laughing at Enjolras’ face while the stripper dragged him away that he almost didn’t notice the light tap on his shoulder.  
  
 _Almost_  
  
He turned around so fast he almost toppled over. Smooth Courf, real smooth. He was greeted by the radiant sight of ‘Ginger’.  
  
“Hey,” Courf beamed.  
  
“Hey back,” Ginger teased. The two men stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Courfeyrac noticed that Ginger had adorned himself with a button up vest along with the black boxer briefs he had worn during the performance.  
  
Ginger noticed Courfeyrac openly checking him out and blushed.  
  
“Come on,” he offered his hand to Courfeyrac who eagerly  took it. Ginger led him in the direction that ‘Blue’ and Enjolras had previously taken.  
  
They stepped into one of the cubicles that were reserved for private dances. They were small but manageable. Inside was a cushioned bench pressed against a wall and an inadequate amount of standing room. Courfeyrac immediately sat on the bench as per usual. Ginger pressed a chaste kiss unto his cheek and sat down on the bench next to him. They had a strange routine. Courf had started it one day when he’d stopped Ginger mid lap dance to start asking him questions. Since then in stead of sexy lap dances they played a game of twenty questions.  
  
“So how has your day been?” Courfeyrac began.  
  
“Better now that you’ve arrived,” Ginger smiled and Courfeyrac couldn’t help but return Ginger’s beautiful smile.

"You flatter me," countered Courf.

"I do believe it's the other way around, fair sir," Ginger giggled.

Courf loved how they reacted. It was witty and flirty. Just like him.

Ginger was a really wonderful person. His appearance might have been what drew Courfeyrac in but his personality was truley beautiful.

Ginger was a gentle soul who could find the beauty in everything. He liked poetry and was constantly writing it himself. His favortie flowers were sunflowers and his favorite color was salmon. He loved sweaters, green tea, and kittens and disliked horror movies and seafood. 

If Courfeyrac didn't know any better he would think Ginger was made up. 

He was far too perfect to be true.

Except the one rather big, okay well giant, problem. He was a stripper. How a person like Ginger got into stripping was beyong Courfeyrac.

Not that Courf didn't appreciate Ginger's dancing. It was hot. They dude could dance.

The problem was that other people appreciated Ginger's dancing.

Other dude's were touching and fantacizing about Ginger.

His _Ginger_.

Courf knew one thing, he really needed to learn the other's real name. 

 

* * *

  
  
**Ԏehan**  
  
  
After his session with Courfeyrac, because that’s what he’d taken to calling the strange meetings, Jehan felt elated. He always did. Courfeyrac made him feel special. He treated him like a princess and always looked like he wanted to ravish him properly. The other boy listened when Jehan spoke and went out of his way to compliment him. He made Jehan happy, flustered, and utterly conflicted. Jehan had asked some of the other girls if any of their regulars had ever wanted to just talk.  
  
Éponine’s advice was to take it in stride. “Hey, the idiot’s paying you to sit and talk, let him. But if he starts getting weird or pervy tell me and I’ll cut his balls off.”  
  
Alyssa thought the solution was simple. “I totally ship it. He’s adorable. Monty sucks. Dump Monty.”  
  
Vanessa had encouraged it. “Wanky.” which was about as good as he was going to get from her seeing as she was higher than the empire state building at the time he asked.  
  
He even asked Cosette, the sweet, new girl. “It sounds like a movie,” she had gushed, “You guys are going to be in love. I know it.”  
  
Jehan thought the girls support was lovely. Courfeyrac was lovely. The way he made Jehan feel was lovely. There was just one factor in the equation that wasn’t adding up.  
  
 _Montparnasse_  
  
His _boyfriend_.

His boyfriend who was currently incarcerated for aggravated assault. He was getting out in a month.

  
He loved Monty, he really did.  
  
The two had met while the they were in high school. Monty was a senior, and Jehan a sophomore. Jehan apparently had done something to attract Montparnasse’s attention because one day at school the other boy approached him announcing that they were together. When their relationship began it was great. It was hot, adventurous, and everything Jehan never knew he craved. Then it went downhill.  
  
Jehan remembered the exact date of the first time Monty hit him.  
  
He also remembered the second time.  
  
And the third.  
  
And the forth and the fifth. The rest had been jumbled together in his memory by time, tears, and pain.  
  
Jehan had tried to leave Montparnasse a couple of times. he wasn’t stupid. He knew this relationship was likely to be the death of him. It usually resulted in a hospital trip and Jehan apologizing to Monty for being such a terrible boyfriend.  
  
Montparnasse had forced Jehan into stripping because, “Someone needs to make some money and the job is perfect for a little slut like you.”  
  
  
So yeah, Jehan loved Monty, but he hated him too. He made Jehan feel terrible. He made him hurt, emotionally and physically. He made him cry.  
  
Jehan didn’t think Courfeyrac would ever intentionally make him cry. He didn’t think Courfeyrac would ever hit him or tell him that he was a slut. Courfeyrac was kind, he was handsome, and over all he was different.  
  
This was what was floating through Jehan’s head when he turned back, saw Courfeyrac’s comforting grin, and confessed, “My name is Jehan.”  
  
Courfeyrac’s blinding smile was worth breaking Madame Thénardier’s number one rule.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The perspectives for each character are shorter because I want to get at least every characters perspective in the story a couple of times.
> 
> 2\. I'm having way too much fun making up stripper names.
> 
> 3\. I'm rubbish at naming chapters. I'm using random song titles.
> 
> 4\. Sorry for the wait, my professors keep giving me so much work. 
> 
> 5\. Points for you if you caught the glee reference in that.
> 
> 6\. Next chapter Eponine and Cosette get their perspective.


	4. Temptation Greets You Like Your Naughty Friend

**∑njolras**  
  
Blue’s hand was warm in his as he was led back to the private dance booths. Blue pulled Enjolras into an empty one, locking the door behind them before shoving the blonde towards the bench/bed. Enjolras tripped and fell onto his back, Blue crawling over him straddling him. Enolaras hesitated for a moment, pulling away for the briefest of seconds as his heart pounded for a reason that was scaring the crap out of him. He liked this. A lot. He liked having a stripper run his hands over his body. He liked having said stripper press hot open mouthed kisses to his face and neck.  
  
“You don’t have to do this,” Enjolras frowned and began to protest, albeit weakly, but still protesting, “Courfeyrac was just being an idiot.”  
  
Grantaire lifted his head from Enjolras’ neck and raised an eyebrow in confusion.  
  
“Do you want me to stop?” he queried.   
  
God, did Enjolras want it. At this point he was pretty sure there was nothing he wanted more. So he threw away his inhibitions and shook his head.  
  
Blue grinned like a predator and turned around so his back was facing Enjolras. He stepped back so Enjolras’ right leg was between his own. He proceeded to slowly bend over, keeping a little arch in his back and his legs straight. He then slid his hands down his legs until he hit his ankle. Creating an effective and sexy arc of his body. He slowly moved his hand back up his legs. Enjolras watched hypnotized as Blue slid one hand down to crotch and stroked himself for half a moment through his sinfully tight boxer briefs. He never broke eye contact with Enjolras once.  
  
Enjolras was hard. Blue had barely even touched Enjolras. This was ridiculous. How can one person be so sexy. Enjolras was wondering why he hadn’t done this before. Why wasn’t he spending all of his money on private lap dances with Blue until there was no money left?   
  
Oh, because he didn’t go to strip clubs.  
  
Shit, he was harder than he’s ever been. In a strip club. With a stripper. A stripper who had begun to lower his bottom to the point where it was a centimeter away from Enjolras’ hard on.  
  
Where did he put his hands?  
  
Blue solved that problem for him by reaching back and grabbing Enjolras’ hand and wrapping them around Blue’s own body.  
  
He didn’t know anything about this man aside from the fact that he was a stripper and ridiculously attractive. He didn’t even know his name.  
  
Blue finally lowered and started wiggling his hips. He moved them in a clockwise circle most of the time. Sometimes he switched it to a counter clockwise circle. At other times Blue pressed harder into Enjolras’ groin adding much needed pressure to Enjolras’ aching erection. He also did a sort of rocking motion which was quickly becoming his favorite move.  
  
“Unghnnff” Enjolras breathed. Enjolras had no idea how long he’d been in the booth. It could have been a half hour or it could have been a month.  
  
Enjolras’ perception of time went to hell, along with his ability to form fluent speech, the second Blue had begun to move his tantalizing hips. It didn’t seem like nearly long enough to him.   
  
Blue rose into a standing position and turned around to face Enjolras.  
  
What was he supposed to say?  
  
 _Thank you, that was the most sexually arousing experience ever._  
  
 _Thanks, hey. Sex?_  
  
 _Thank you, my name’s Enjolras. Marry me?_  
  
No, none of those seemed appropriate.  
  
So he settled for just “Thanks.”  
  
“Anytime Apollo,” Blue quipped with a wink before walking unlocking the door and strided out of the room, hips swaying sexily.   
  
_Apollo?_  
  
For the what had to be the millionth time that night, Enjolras was left flabbergasted.  
  


* * *

  
  
 **©osette**  
  
Cosette felt filthy. All she wanted to do was cry and shower. Well she was already crying. Could you blame her. She’d felt so scandalized. She was on display all night with men and women alike laying not so innocent touches on her. She was utterly mortified. She had thought she could handle this. Mama could do it. Mama, was the strongest person she knew. She needed to do this.   
  
She had done the overly sexy dance. She had stripped her clothing and swayed her hips to the music just like Éponine and Alyssa had showed her. Alyssa was on stage with her the whole time. Sending her reassuring glances and smiles throughout the performance. Cosette felt dirty, but successful when it was over. She had done. Then Alyssa had offered to give Cosette one of her usual men for a lap dance. Alyssa said that it brought in a lot of money. So Cosette thought she could give it a try.   
  
She tried she really did. She was doing alright until the man touched her breast. Then she let out a strangled sob and ran out of the booth and out the back door of the club. Which was where she was now. Sitting on the concrete step leading up to the back door. Crying her eyes out. Feeling like the lowest human being to ever work the earth.  
  
How Mama did this Cosette did not understand.   
  
Alyssa had come out a few minutes after Cosette ran out. She calmly listened to Cosette’s story and told Cosette that she had every right to walk out. The clients were not supposed to touch the dancer’s without consent. She told Cosette to collect herself, that the first night was the worst, it would become bearable. Then she went inside to put in a formal complaint with Bahorel and the security team. Leaving Cosette alone.  
  
Alyssa, Grantaire, Jehan, and Éponine had all been trying to help Cosette since she arrived at the club. Their kindness held no constraints. They offered help, clients, tips, and support to a girl they barely knew. They were truly good people. Cosette was no better than them. So why did she feel so conflicted. They didn’t seem conflicted at all when they stripped. Why did she consider herself so lowly when she was doing her job, the same thing they did.   
  
“Are you okay?” a boy asked timidly. Cosette jumped in fright. The boy had freckles and short dirty blonde hair. He looked uncomfortable. Cosette felt just as uncomfortable. How long had he been standing there?   
  
“I’m f-fine,” Cosette blubbered.  
  
“No you’re not,” the boy stated. He pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket of his jeans.   
  
A handkerchief? Seriously? Who even carried those around anymore?  
  
He wordlessly handed it to Cosette and sat beside her on the steps. Cosette stared at him in disbelief.   
  
“I’m Marius,” he spoke after an awkward silence, “I came here with my friends for Enj’s birthday. I’ve never been to a strip club before. So I was nervous. Then Enjolras and Courfeyrac left. After that Combeferre went to talk to call another friend of ours. Joly. He was sick. Well probably not. He’s a hypochondriac so he always thinks he’s sick. But anyways, Joly said he couldn’t come and that naturally meant Bossuet wasn’t coming because, well, they’re like never separated...”   
  
Marius continued to ramble on about his friends. It had an odd calming effect on Cosette. Eventually she stopped crying and dried her eyes and nose with Marius’ handkerchief. This boy didn’t know her at all. Yet, he still stopped to make sure she was okay. He even put in the effort to cheer her up. Most people would have walked by. Cosette smiled at the kind boy, her faith in humanity returned.   
  
“I got way off topic,” Marius blurted mid sentence, “What I was trying to say is that I’m not really having that great of a night either.” His cheeks flushed and he stared down at his shoes.  
  
Cosette giggled.  
  
“My name’s Cosette.”  
  
“I saw your performance. You were very, erm, good.” Marius complemented awkwardly.  
  
“This is my first time doing this,” Cosette admitted, “I needed to do it to pay for the bills for Mama. She was attacked almost a month ago. She had to go to the hospital. Her Doctor, Dr. Valjean, knew our situation and offered to pay for half of the bills. He’s such a nice man. He’s helping mama heal. I think they like each other.” Now it was Cosette’s turn to blush for rambling. She didn’t even know why she was telling Marius all of this. They had just met. He was just so easy to talk to.  
  
“You should talk to my friends. Enjolras and Combeferre could probably help. I can introduce you to them some time.” offered Marius.  
  
Cosette smiled. She could use help.   
  


* * *

  
  
**℮ponine**  
  
Éponine walked into the backroom of the club. The night was almost over and she had decided that three performances and seven lap dances was enough for the night. The moment she stepped into the backroom her olfactory senses were struck with a powerful smell of weed.   
  
“Ugh seriously?!” Éponine demanded, “Do it your own goddamn homes!”  
  
David and John looked up from their place on the floor. There were sharing a blunt. Next to them Vanessa was laying on her back, unmoving, staring at the ceiling.  
  
“What’s up with her,” Alyssa called from behind Éponine , nodding her head at Vanessa’s still form.  
  
“She’s tripping,” John cackled. Éponine rolled her eyes. Alyssa fixed John with a glare.  
  
“On what?” she hissed.  
  
“Acid or shrooms,” John guffawed, “Maybe both.”  
  
“Are you fucking serious,” Lyssa demanded, “You don’t even know what she took. She could overdose you asshole!”  
  
Éponine knew why her friend was pissed, she herself wanted to slap John in the face, over and over again. John was a drug addict, through and through. He was always high on something. He owed several drug dealers money and was most likely to end up dead in a gutter one day. That wasn’t what made her angry.   
  
No.   
  
His life was his own.  
  
But, he wasn’t happy with utterly ruining his own life. He had to drag Vanessa down too. The two were supposedly dating. It was hardly a healthy relationship. John had sold Vanessa’s body for drugs on more than one occasion. He had gotten the once fairly innocent girl on drugs then dragged her into the club one day so she could work here too.   
  
It made Éponine sick.   
  
Vanessa was a good person. At one point she could have had a pretty good future ahead of her. Now she was nothing more than a good sense of humor and a constant risk of an early grave.   
  
She had been dragged into hell like the rest of them.   
  
But Vanessa’s was a deeper hell. She was an addict. She had no chance of recovering. She had no chance of a better life. She would be a low class addict until she died.   
  
Éponine walked away, dragging a fuming Alyssa with her, to the bar.  
  
No one could save Vanessa now. But Éponine could make damn sure that herself and her friends wouldn’t be dragged down.  
  


* * *

  
  
 **₲rantaire**  
  
At the end of each night, which was actually around 3am, all of the staff gathered in the back room. They recorded their income with Madame Thénardier, changed into socially acceptable clothing, and chatted amongst themselves until cleared them to go. He usually snuggled with either Éponine, Alyssa, or Jehan on the couch until Monsieur Thénardier said it was time to go.  
  
This was usually Grantaire’s favorite part of the night. It meant another day was over.  He was usually exhausted and eagerly awaiting sleep. Tonight however was different. He was bursting with energy. He was bouncing up and down on the couch.   
  
“If you don’t stop bouncing, I might have to kill you,” grumbled Éponine. Grantaire just chuckled and tried to still his hyper body.   
  
His mind was filled with Apollo.  
  
Apollo’s face.  
  
Apollo’s voice.  
  
The noises Apollo made when Grantaire was grinding into him.  
  
The way Apollo’s erection felt against his ass.  
  
It was heavenly really.  
  
The whole experience got an A+.  
  
“Fine, you little shits, you can go.” Shouted Monsieur Thénardier.  
  
“Finally,” Jehan yawned.   
  
The group consisting of Jehan, Éponine, Alyssa, and Grantaire himself made their way to Alyssa’s car.   
  
Grantaire slipped into the backseat after Jehan. They rode in a comfortable silence for a majority of the trip. Jehan and Éponine started a conversation about Jehan’s crush, Courfeyrac. The ride was peaceful.   
  
It was pleasant.   
  
Grantaire rarely found things pleasant any more. Apollo definitely had affected him. He couldn’t seem to make himself mind it too much. He hoped to see Apollo again. Really hoped. He would pray to a God if he believed in one. That would be a rather perverse prayer Grantaire mused.   
  
The beat up, 1999 toyota corolla, came to a stop in front of the apartment Jehan and he were sharing. It could barely be called an apartment. It had a ridiculously small kitchen, an even smaller bedroom, a bathroom, and what was supposed to be a living room. The two men made their way straight to the shared bedroom. In it were two twin mattresses on the floor pressed up against opposite walls of the room. There was a small walkway between the two mattresses. Next to Grantaire’s mattress on the left side of the room was an ashtray and some empty bottles.   
  
Grantaire stripped down to his boxers and slid under the sheets.  
  
He had to see Apollo again.   
  
“G’ night, Taire.” Jehan called softly from the other bed.  
  
“Night Jehan.”

Grantaire let sleep overtake him. He dreamt of a god with blonde hair and eyes like ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I'm probably going to make a little map of Jehan and Grantaire's apartment.


	5. Chapter 5

**₲rantaire**

****

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

****

Grantaire’s eyes flew open and he jumped up. He threw a worried glance around the room trying to locate the loud, irritating noise that woke him from his slumber. Jehan was laying on his mattress across the room snoring lightly. Jehan slept like the dead. An angry mob could be at their door and Jehan wouldn’t rouse from his slumber in the slightest. When he was sure his best friend wasn't getting mauled by a bear or anything equally absurd and frightening he grabbed his phone.

****

It was a shitty little thing. A three year old flip phone but it had served him faithfully over the years. The phone suffered through all of Grantaire’s abuse without breaking. He checked the time.

****

**6:30AM**

****

“What?” Grantaire pondered aloud. Who interrupted a person’s sleep at 6:30 in the morning? Who was awake themselves at 6:30 in the morning?

****

_Knock! Knock!_

****

Grantaire really hated whoever was knocking.

****

“Go away,” Grantaire rasped. His throat was dry from sleep. He grabbed his pillow and shoved it over his head to block out the pounding at the door.

****

“Come on you bitch, open up!,” Growled a voice from the other side of the door.

****

“Oh, for the love of everything unholy,” grumbled Grantaire before tossing off his blanket and rising from his mattress. He shuffled sleepily to the door.

****

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

****

“I am coming!” Grantaire screamed.

****

He looked through the peephole to see who in their right mind would be at the door. He was not expecting _this_.

****

_What. The. Hell._

****

He undid the lock but left the chain on.

****

“What do you want,” he demanded.

****

“For you to let me the fuck in you little twat,” the visitor snapped.

****

“Fat chance,” Grantaire scoffed. He tried to slam the door shut but a booted foot blocked it’s path.

****

“Get fucking Jehan and let me the fuck in before I beat the shit out of both of you. Worthless slut,” the visitor threatened before reaching in the door and attempting to undo the chain. Grantaire and the intruder wrestled with the door. The invader trying to push the door in and break the chain while Grantaire tried to shove the visitor out and close the door. Grantaire being the smaller and weaker of the two men in the struggle lost and the chain broke off the wall with a loud clanging noise. Grantaire was immediately shoved back. The intruder then barreled into his stomach launching them both to the ground in a struggling heap. He began punching Grantaire any place he could reach while Grantaire tried uselessly to wriggle out from underneath the intruder.

****

“Thought you could keep me out!?”

****

_Punch_

****

“Wanted to keep him all to yourself?!”

****

_Punch_

****

“He’s my little bitch!”

****

_Punch_

 

 **  
**"My little slut!"

 

_Punch_

****

“Mine!”

****

_Punch_

****

Grantaire tried his best to fight back but his opponent was a far more experienced fighter and a much larger man. He felt pain and tasted blood in his mouth. He was pretty sure he was going to get beaten to death in his own apartment. He heard footsteps rapidly approaching and knew Jehan had woken up.

****

_No you idiot. Run away._

****

“Montparnasse! You’re going to kill him!” Jehan screeched right before Grantaire passed out.

 

* * *

********  
  


**ßossuet**

********  
  


“She was perfect. I’m telling you,” Marius swore, “She was an angel in disguise.”

****

Combeferre snorted. Bossuet just nodded and smiled good heartedly. Marius was telling them of his meeting with a proclaimed angel the night before.

****

“Marius,” Combeferre spoke calmly, “She is a stripper.”

****

“No,” Marius practically jumped out of his seat, “She only tried it to help her mom. I promised her I’d ask you and Enjolras about it. Marius then went into full detail about the poor girls story. It really was terrible tale.

****

‘Her luck sounds as bad as mine’  Bossuet thought grimly before deeming his coffee cooled enough to drink.

****

“Ughhnnghh!” he sputtered as the hot liquid burnt his tongue.

****

Combeferre paused mid speech about welfare and special health care programs for the less fortunate to give Bossuet an exasperated look.

****

“I told you to let that cool,” He articulated before sipping from his own coffee coyly.

****

Bossuet shrugged and offered a lopsided smile in return. Combeferre continued to educate Marius on the possible paths for Colette, or whatever her name was, to take.

****

Bossuet tuned them out and thought of what he and Joly could get to eat when Joly’s shift at the hospital was over.

****

Joly was interning as a nursing assistant in the local hospital.

****

_Joly._

****

Bossuet blushed thinking about last night. Joly had felt guilty about making Bossuet miss the strip club but Bossuet hadn’t minded in the slightest. He was just happy about spending time with his boyfriend.

****

“Wouldn’t you Bossuet?” Combeferre asked. Marius was looking at Bossuet with large puppy-like eyes full of hope.

****

“Erm, What?” Bossuet asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to meet Cosette? She sounds like a nice person. It would be a shame not to try and help her,” Combeferre elaborated.

****

“Yeah,” Bossuet reassured, “She sounds great.”

****

“Great,” Marius grinned, “I’ll invite her to the next meeting.”

****

* * *

****

**ʝoly**

****

“Oy! You there,” a female voice called.

****

Joly jumped in surprise. No one was supposed to be in this hallway. It was staff only.

****

Joly stopped and turned around. He located the girl speaking. She had long brown hair thrown haphazardly into a bun and intense hazel eyes. She had her hands on her hips and was datding in front of two other girls. She was staring right at him.

****

He looked behind him. No one was there.

****

Joly stared at her bewildered and pointed to himself questionably?

****

“Yeah! You,” she demanded walking up to him. The two girls behind her followed, never more than a step behind her.

****

“Will one of you pretentious blowhards tell me what the fuck is wrong with our friend?!” the brunette sneered.

****

“Ep,” the blonde girl scolded softly. The girl, Ep, just scoffed in response.

****

“Uhm,” Joly blurted, “I would need the name of your friend, Mam.” The girl scoffed once more before supplying Joly with the information necessary.

****

She was asking about her friend Grantaire, he was the assault patient in room 231. Joly knew that there was nothing fatally wrong with him. He was badly beaten and probably had a broken a rib or two. Joly went to check to be sure. The girl had given her name, Éponine Thénardier, and her soft spoken blonde friend friend led her and the other curly haired girl back into the waiting room.

****

Joly walked into room 231. The man in the bed was sleeping off his meds. Joly made a mental list of visual injuries. He had a black eye and a split lip. Several lacerations and bruises littered his face and chest. Joly moved forward to the foot of the bed and grabbed Grantaire’s chart. He had a broken rib just as suspected. Joly was just about to put the chart back down when something caught his eye. Under Grantaire’s age and above his allergies was the list of his most recent hospital visits in a year. Most people had one, maybe two visits in that space, the man lying in the hospital bed before Jehan had ten.

****

_Stomach pumping - Alcohol_

_**** _

_Stomach pumping - Alcohol_

_Possible Assault - Broken arm_

_**** _

_Overdose - Methadone_

_**** _

_Stomach pumping - Alcohol_

_**** _

_Possible Assault - Concussion_

_**** _

_Possible Assault -  Signs of rape; head trauma_

_**** _

_Stomach pumping - Alcohol_

_**** _

_Possible Assault - Broken wrist; broken nose; concussion_

_**** _

_Stomach pumping -  Alcohol_

****

Joly’s mouth hung open. Underneath all of that was a note written in handwriting.

****

Possibly suicidal; possible abusive relationship

****

There were three names that popped up repeatedly admitting Grantaire: Jean Prouvaire was the most popular, Alyssa Tyrell was a close second, the third name was the girl who had demanded answers, Éponine Thénardier.

****

Joly put down the chart and left as silently as he entered. He had to inform Éponine on the status of her friend and try to convince her to get him professional help. This man was calling out for help and Joly was going to try his damned hardest to help.

****  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long. Midterms are finally over.

**Author's Note:**

> -Fecking: In an interview, Fra Free said it was his favorite curse word, so I figured why not let his character use it. 
> 
> -La beauté nue means The naked beauty in french. Or at least Google translate tells me so. If I'm wrong, someone please correct me.


End file.
